Countdown
by gripsyched
Summary: Countdown of events to Marine Cathedral. Oneshot, Angst, HxM. (May deviate a little from original storyline)


Countdown

Pairing: Haruka Tenou and Michiru Kaiou

AN: oh my god D: I didn't want to write this but after listening to "Still" by Daughter, I thought that the song really fitted the two of them- "still our hands match" oh my god D: aaaaaangst, may be slightly passive. On a side note, yay this is the first fic from Haruka's POV instead!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sailor Moon there would be lots and lots of screen time for Haruka and Michiru I'm sorry I don't

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_Ten_.

Michiru lies awake on the bed (you can tell, by the way her breathing is so carefully administered and controlled to imitate that of a soundly sleeping child; and the tenseness between her brows; and the stiffness of her curled-up body). She is hesitant, and almost apprehensive.

You wonder why, but you are sure that it's because of the looming fate that towers over the both of you. You aren't psychic, but the banging of the wind against the windows is enough to tell you that something's wrong.

Straining her neck, she sees the time illuminated in bright neon digits— 3.42 AM. She sighs. You sling your arm around her waist as drowsily as you can manage, pretending that you are still asleep and unaware of her dilemma.

She spots it immediately. "Ruka?"

You continue with your facade for a few moments before giving up. "You can't sleep."

"Did I wake you?" A courteous apology is left unsaid.

"Not really, no," you mumble, voice still husky with sleep.

She laughs, and ruffles your hair before making to leave the bed. You tighten your grip on her, childishly rubbing your cheek against her bare arm. She chuckles, and pries your fingers away.

"Don't leave me," you whisper— though it comes out sounding a little more desperate than intended.

She doesn't say anything; pauses, rethinks, and sinks back into the comfort of your arms.

_Nine_.

Michiru has not slept since the deadly time of 3.42 AM. You can tell by the way she moves— jerkily, as though every action brings pain to her. You don't like it— she has lost her fluidity, and has painted herself into a warrior tired of battles. This hyper-realism is a little too stinging compared to her usual surrealism.

So when you find yourself making tea for her (black, with no sugar), you realise how desperate you look— pouches and wrappers in shreds on the ground as you stir the tea a little too hard. Shock is the first expression that settles on her face, followed by amusement, and she laughs.

You pout— an instinctual reaction to whenever she teases you. Her laughter is still a little guarded, wary as you shove the mug of tea towards her. She accepts it and takes a sip cautiously, eyes still regarding you with suspicion.

"What," she begins to say in a chiding tone. "Have you done this time?"

"What I haven't done," you reply.

She furrows her eyebrows, and shakes her head. "I should rephrase. What have I done this time?"

You tilt your head, confused.

She clears her throat. "You're as dense as a block of wood. So if _I_ don't even know why you're acting so... submissively, I doubt you'd be able to realise what you've done wrong first."

"Such lack of faith, Michiru." You try to slide out into the living room.

You can see the thought of stopping you flash across her eyes, but she shifts away for you to cross. "Tell me what's wrong— what makes you think there's something wrong?"

You are halfway across the room when you turn around to answer her. "You, Michi, are a block of wood."

As you close the bedroom door behind you, a sudden burst of giggle echoes throughout the house. A smile flits its way onto your lips; satisfied with the temporary distraction (and tea) you've provided Michiru with.

_Eight_.

"We are not going to school," Michiru announces.

You are in the middle of tightening your tie. "Why?"

"Because..." she exits from the kitchen with a swimsuit on. "The block of wood isn't feeling well."

"Which one?" you feel almost annoyed at the sudden decision.

"Ara, are we saying that there are two blocks of wood now?" she laughs.

You stay silent, running a hand through your hair. Placing the blazer down on a chair, you walk towards her. If Michiru wanted to skip school just to take a swim, you wouldn't mind, not really.

"I don't see why I'm skipping school along with you," you say grudgingly, more out of spite than anything else.

"Are you angry?" she asks softly, loosening your tie. "It's not because I want to go for a swim that I'm skipping school today. I want to be prepared."

"For?" you prompt.

She doesn't reply, instead choosing to change the subject. "Will you not go to school?"

The softness of her face, hair and trembling fingers is enough to make you nod. You follow her out of the apartment and to the swimming pool.

_Seven_.

Michiru in her element is simply hypnotizing. You can't help but feel jealous as she glides along the surface of the water. Sometimes you lose her to the depths of the sea, and catch yourself pulling her up protectively, away from the ocean that wants to claim her as its own. It is silly, but Michiru must have felt the same when you ran along the wind.

And of course, the way she dances in the water is the epitome of grace— streamlining and moving (seemingly) without any water resistance. She looks perfect, and at ease, and there seems to never be a need to reemerge from the water.

When she surfaces, you find yourself thinking that the wetness on Michiru's cheeks is almost like a trail of tears.

As she places her hand on the water's surface, you think you see her mouthing, "goodbye".

_Six_.

"It's so unfair of you, Michiru," you mutter, leaning on the beach chair. "To go off in your own world and leave me here."

Seeing her drift back into consciousness, you feel almost guilty— it was unnecessary to drag Michiru back here into the world of sins and gore. But you were lonely, and your only comfort was her— selfish as it was, you reeled her back. Back to her duty, her mission, the talismans. Back to you.

She simply smiles and says (almost regretfully), "I will never be able to bring myself to say goodbye to you, Haruka."

_Five_.

The message from Eudial is not unexpected— but you never expected it to be so soon. Michiru shoots you an apologetic glance.

Your hands are _filthy_. _Tainted. Dirty._

_Four_.

"I like your hands, Haruka."

_Three_.

You hate to do something so vile and rough in the place Michiru loves so much— the fishes that stare at you makes the whole thing so hard to deal with. When you glance back at her, Sailor Moon's brooch in hand, you are ashamed of yourself to see that she is staring at the aquarium glass.

Her eyes are glazed over- and her posture is almost nonchalance, but it makes your heart sink to know that your hands have once more wrecked away another light- hurt another being of warmth- _in the only other place that Michiru can find peace in._

_Two_.

She reaches out for your hand, rethinks, and lets her arm fall to her side once more. You are sure that if she took it, you would have ran away with her— away from Neptune and Uranus and the damned talismans.

You don't want to run, not anymore.

If your hands were meant to be caked in guilt, then let it only be your hands that the devil shakes. Leave Michiru out of this.

_One_.

When you see Michiru's immobile body resting on the floor, you finally understand what she was getting at, the whole day. You laugh-

"How unfair of you to leave me and go off into your world, Michiru."

Pointing the gun at that hideous yellow bow (that you will never have to wear again), you smile-

"Goodbye."

_Blackout_.

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Reviews will be greatly appreciated!


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